The Princess in the Tower
by Lanta
Summary: Azkadellia lives in luxury, but she cannot leave her apartment. She is paying for another woman's crimes, but sometimes she feels that she deserves it.


The worst thing about being imprisoned is that you have nothing to do but think. Hours spent each day, lying on your bed, remembering your past.

My past isn't one you'd want to remember.

I was a child when I fell. My little sister let go, and the witch possessed me. I know that DG feels responsible, but I don't blame her. She was only scared.

I blame myself. I blame myself for not fighting her enough. If I had just managed to overcome the witch, just for one moment... just enough to reach out to DG, to clasp her hand, combine our magics... I could have saved her life, prevented my mother from having to sacrifice her light to save her daughter. I could have stopped the witch, saved all the thousands of people she killed. All it would have taken would be holding my sister's hand.

I did it, in the end, but too late. I can barely look Wyatt Cain in the eye, knowing that his wife was among the many who died.

I don't feel this way all the time. There are times when I actually believe my parents, and DG, and the others who tell me that it wasn't my fault. When I'm with them, they make it sound so convincing. I wish I could spend all my time in my mother's arms, or my sister's, feeling the love that they feel for me.

I can't. As much as they care for me, they have to do their duty. The O.Z. is in pieces, and they're needed all the time. Mother has to be the queen, holding meetings and giving orders. DG's volunteered to use her magic to try and restore the lands the witch had destroyed, so she makes frequent trips away from the palace, accompanied always by one or more of her faithful friends and bodyguards. My father helps out wherever he can. I'm lucky that they manage to visit as often as they do.

When I hear a polite knock and a verbal request to enter my apartment (my jail cell), I stand up and walk into the sitting room before calling "Enter". I may be a prisoner, but I was raised a princess, and princesses don't receive guests while lying down on their beds, cuddled around their pillows.

My primary jailer enters, and the door is closed behind him by the guard outside. Jeb Cain goes to one knee, and as usual I feel conflicted about it. Jeb lost his mother; spent years believing his father to be dead; dedicated his life to fighting in the Rebellion – and yet he still acknowledges me as the heir to the throne. He doesn't have to – legally yes, perhaps, but nobody would ever discipline or chastise him for not doing so. The others who demanded my punishment don't like him treating me as a princess. My mother would never order it; as much as she loves me, she understands how much I am hated, and does not condemn anybody for it. I would certainly never require it of him myself – to be honest, even if by some miracle I was released from my prison, I would never wish to become queen. I'm not the person I might have been, if it weren't for the witch's possession. DG should be the one to take the throne.

He stays on his knee until I ask him to rise, and then he walks over to me and passes me the books he had been holding. "I visited the library on my way here, Your Highness." He has a peculiar smile on his face.

I want to hug him (but of course I don't; I couldn't stand the rejection if he tensed away from me). Novels are the one thing that can take my mind away from my situation, and my past; let me temporarily live in another world. "Thank you, Mr. Cain." It was a formal phrase, princess-to-subject, not at all the effusive thanks I wished to bestow; but I am not DG, I can not so easily forget propriety. Hopefully my grateful smile, at least, would make it clear how much I appreciated his thoughtfulness.

"No problem." He looks down, seeming embarrassed. Jeb doesn't like my being imprisoned here, I've heard him talking about it to DG; but he's a good soldier, and he obeys orders. He doesn't have to like his duty to carry it out to the best of his ability.

Maybe he even took this assignment so that nobody else could. Maybe he and his father wanted someone who believed in my innocence to be my captor, to avoid the abuse I might suffer at the hands of another. I cling to this theory.

"Do you have any news of my family?" I can't ask directly about the reconstruction of the O.Z. Those who had campaigned for my imprisonment are not willing to have me given intelligence that could (so they say) be used against them if I were to escape, or orchestrate some evil plot against them from within my prison. (I'm not entirely sure whether they believe that I am the evil sorceress who attempted to destroy the O.Z., or that the witch could return and possess me again. Perhaps they are not sure either.)

"They're currently at a meeting in Central City, Your Highness." Naturally, he does not specify its content. "Princess DG asked me to tell you that she would be visiting you this evening."

"Thank you. Do you know if they've scheduled Ambrose's surgery yet?"

He nods. "Dad says they're doing it the day after tomorrow. Glitch has been driving him crazy with excitement."

I smile as best as I am able. I don't really know him as Glitch. I remember him as Ambrose – from when I was a child, and from while I was possessed. He was a good man. I remember him teaching me how to waltz. (I doubt that skill will be much use to me now, though.)

Seeing him as Glitch just gives me one more person to feel guilty about.

"Is there anything else you would like me to get for you today, my lady?" he asks politely.

"I don't suppose there is any chance of keeping the door open for a while?" I ask wistfully. "It gets really hot in here with no windows."

His first instinct is clearly to say no – an open door on a jail cell is not exactly standard – but he doesn't; probably because he can feel how hot it is himself after only being inside for a couple of minutes.

"I'll allow it," he says after a moment's consideration, "but I'm afraid I'll have to stand inside the room to watch you, Your Highness. You must not move too close to the door or I will be forced to lock you inside again."

I agree to the condition. The lack of privacy is a small price to pay for a little fresh air. If I'm honest, in fact, I like the idea of somebody staying in the room with me, even a silent guard – it helps to alleviate some of the loneliness.

He bows, opens the door, and briefly goes outside to inform the other guards of our agreement before returning and taking his post. I take a seat on a nearby sofa – I cannot really return to the bed while he is there; and in any case, it is even hotter in the bedroom – and open one of the books he has given me.

I know, always, that I could escape. My magic is not gone simply because the witch is; it's a part of me, and there is no way that anybody can take it away from me. Always, though, I remain in my hot, luxurious jail cell, honouring my promise and accepting my punishment.

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I am nearly finished with my evening meal when DG arrives. The food is not so amazing as might be expected in a royal residence; those chefs who served in the Tower under the witch have either been arrested, or freed from their forced servitude, and there have doubtless been far more important things on the minds of my family than finding new staff for the palace kitchens.

DG is nearly bouncing up and down. I stare at her. Usually when she comes she is tired, exhausted from all of the work she has been doing and upset at my situation. Something has evidently excited her. Even Wyatt Cain, standing behind her, appears to be smiling.

"You're free!" She shouts this jubilantly.

I stare at her, not understanding what she is saying. "What?"

"Raw convinced the jury – we had this hearing - and we showed them what happened, and you're free! Come on! We can go outside now – I can finally show you the horse Cain got for me -"

She's talking so fast, and I can't take in what she's saying. How could I be free? She must be confused. After what the witch had done to the O.Z. while in my body, it is not possible that I could be released from my confinement so quickly.

"Princess, slow down." Mr. Cain has his hand on my sister's shoulder. "You're not giving her time to take it in."

DG stops babbling and instead walks forward slowly, and puts her hands on my shoulders, smiling at me. "Azkadellia – it's real. You're free."

"Free?" I find I can't say more than that one word, that question. Free?

"Free." She hugs me gently and I cling to her for a moment, then she steps back a little, keeping her arms around my waist. "We convinced the people to have a meeting, to prove to them that you're not the sorceress they hate. Raw showed them everything, and they finally believed us."

"It can't have been that easy," I object, and she shakes her head.

"Not easy, no. It's taken this long just to convince them to hear your side of the story. When they saw the events though... nobody could accuse Raw of lying. Everyone understands, now, and they know you were every bit as much a victim as the rest of us."

A victim. It is a word I have never applied to myself, not even in my head, but perhaps DG is correct?

My sister grasps my arm, and gently pulls me towards the door. I follow where she leads, barely even seeing where I go as I struggle to take in what she is telling me. I feel dazed. I have spent weeks accustoming myself to living in this suite, to paying for the sins I committed – no, the sins the witch committed through me. I'm not sure if I expected to ever leave.

She pulls me one final step, and I am across the doorway, and into the hall. It does not feel real.

Jeb is there, and he bows, and smiles. "Welcome to freedom, Your Highness."

I barely know what freedom is. I haven't been truly free since I was a child.

I look around, and I see my family. My sister, still holding my arm; my parents heading down the passageway, looking relieved and delighted to finally see me standing outside of my apartment. Jeb, Wyatt Cain, and my former guards, who are not afraid of me, who appear happy at my release, who... trust me?

Maybe this is freedom, after all.


End file.
